


And Eyes To See

by Dolimir



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amnesia, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-10
Updated: 2011-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-20 07:16:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dolimir/pseuds/Dolimir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My obligatory fountain AU story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Eyes To See

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lilguppee](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=lilguppee).



> This story was written as a tease for my friend Lilguppee. I also submitted it to the Mongoose Ezine First Kiss Contest, which it won.
> 
> I'm actually rather embarrassed by this story as it's not my best writing and the plot has holes you could drive a Mack Truck through. However, I've noticed that people still request it occasionally, so I thought I'd post it here in case someone still wants it...at least for a little while (until its errors drive me crazy and I have to take it down again).

The beeping of his wristwatch made Blair Sandburg look up from his notes. His class, the first evening class of the new semester, would start in 15 minutes. Normally, he would never have considered teaching an evening class, but it was only one night a week and he desperately needed the extra money. Even though the Cascade Police Department was picking up his hospital bills and doctor visits, he just couldn't bring himself to submit the prescription charges as well. He still wasn't clear as to why they were paying his bills in the first place. Joel Taggert, a friend of his from the Major Crimes Division, had tried explaining it to him few times, but he was pretty sure the older man was leaving out several crucial facts.

He could grasp the concept that he had obtained a ride-along pass to study the enclosed structure of the local police society, but he was pretty sure that his paperwork would have stated something about not holding the department responsible for any physical injuries incurred while riding along. Not that he wasn't grateful for the financial assistance, because he was. The various prescriptions the doctors had him on for his lungs alone cost almost two hundred and fifty dollars a month.

He supposed he could use the envelope of money which showed up like clockwork under his apartment door twice a month, but the thought of spending the mystery money creeped him out. Would he be indebted to someone if he spent it? He might not remember much. Okay, he didn't remember anything about the last three years; but he understood that people thought they owned you if you accepted money from them.

He couldn't imagine doing anything horribly shady which might account for the bi-monthly package. However, he was also conscious of the fact that someone was watching him - not all the time, but he could always tell when the person was there, even if he couldn't see them. Why were they watching him? He even went so far as to ask his cousin Robert if he had gotten into anything he shouldn't have. Robert just laughed at the thought of his "squeaky clean" cousin doing anything wrong. Deciding it was better to be cautious, he simply put the money in the bank until he figured out whom it was coming from. Although he had to admit, thirty two hundred dollars was a lot of money.

He shook his head as he stood and gathered his handouts and notes for his lecture. Who knew? If the money kept coming in, he might just pay off what few student loans he had. He shivered with excitement. The first draft of his doctoral thesis was done, although he still couldn't figure out why he had given up his search for a real life sentinel. However, the enclosed police societies paper was being very well received by his advisers. Considering how many notes he had on the subject, he couldn't see chucking the thesis away and starting over.

He hoped to have the final draft done within the next month so he could defend it at the beginning of October. He would then have the safety net of the rest of the semester to teach and decide what he was going to do with his doctorate. There were rumors flying around that he was top candidate for a full-time professorship. If that were the case, he would do his requisite teaching time, go out on an expedition, find his sentinel, come back, publish and get tenure. He smiled to himself; it wasn't a bad plan.

He was surprised to realize that the wandering bug, which infected his mother, did not quite have the same hold on him. He was more than content to stay at Rainier, although the thought of going south to Arizona also appealed to him. But, he knew if he were honest with himself, the heat would eventually get to him. No, Rainier would be fine. Better to stay with the devil you know. Besides, he felt odd whenever he thought about leaving ... as if it was somehow wrong.

He grabbed his keys and locked the door behind him. He hoped this class would be a stimulating one. He could tell by the class profile that most of his students would be returning students, hoping to get their degrees in a world that was demanding a bachelors degree for more and more jobs. He knew most of them would be taking the class to fulfill their humanities credit, but hoped they'd be willing to open their minds and have some fun instead of just worrying about their grade point average. He had noted earlier that a majority of his students would be older than he was and wondered how that might change the dynamics of the group. He chuckled. Lord, he loved teaching.

Taking a deep breath, he expelled it slowly, releasing all of his nervous energy. He put his hand on the doorknob to the lecture hall. Show time.

***

"Good evening. My name is Blair Sandburg and this is Anthropology 101. If you are looking for Sociology 101, Pamela Burnson's class is two doors down on the left." Blair coughed quietly and laid his notes on the podium as two or three panicked stricken students tried to walk nonchalantly out of the room.

"I'm going to assume that the rest of you are in the correct room," he continued, flashing a grin at the class and watching as two or three people grinned nervously back at him.

"Okay, let's see a show of hands of people who are taking this class to meet their humanities criteria. Don't be shy, I don't bite - hard," he said in his best Austin Powers impersonation, which elicited several chuckles from around the room as a majority of the class raised their hands.

"Thank you. How many are taking this class specifically because they are interested in anthropology?" Less than a dozen hands went up.

"As you all know, this is a three hour class. We will run from 7 to 10 every Wednesday night," he said conversationally as he started handing out the syllabus. "There will be a small quiz every class session." He ignored the groans which echoed around the room. "There will also be three papers due. However, there won't be a midterm. Your midterm will be your second paper and will revolve around a little project I have in mind and which we'll talk about later. I am very informal as far as protocol is concerned. If you have a question, shout it out. If you need to get in contact with me, my office hours, room number, phone numbers and email address are at the top of the syllabus. I'm a fairly decent grader; however, I warn you now, you will not be graded on how well you regurgitate information back to me, but on how you apply it."

Stepping back up to the podium, he coughed again. "I'm going to call roll, now. It'll probably be the only time I do it. However, before some of you start getting ideas about skipping class, know the quizzes will make up 50% of your grade. When I call your name, please let me know if you prefer to go by any other name and what you do for a living. I want to get a sense of our group dynamics."

"Abercrombe, Daniel."

"Dan, is fine, Professor. I'm currently work as a clerk, but I'm hoping to get my accounting degree."

...

...

...

"Ellison, James."

"Jim. I'm a detective with Major Crimes."

Blair looked up and smiled at the detective. "Pleased to have you here, Detective."

"Jim. Please."

"Jim."

...

...

...

"Taggert, Joel."

"Present. I'm also a detective with Major Crimes here in Cascade."

"What brings you to my class, Joel?" Blair asked with a huge grin, even as he noticed that Detective Ellison looked back in shock. Apparently, Detective Ellison was unaware that another officer was taking the class.

"I'm interested in how man interacts with his social relationships and how that may be influenced by his surroundings."

"Excellent, Detective. You certainly came to the right place. "Thomas, Rebecca."

"Here, Sir. Becky, please. Right now, I'm a full-time mother, but I'm hoping to get my teaching degree.”

...

...

Blair set aside the attendance sheet and separated his handouts into three piles "As you all may or may not know, anthropology is broken down into three main disciplines: physical anthropology, cultural anthropology and linguistic anthropology."

"Physical anthropology is the study of man as a biological species focusing on his past evolution and his contemporary physical characteristics. Physical anthropologists also study the differences among races and groups, relying to a great extent on techniques of anthropology and, more recently, genetic studies."

"Cultural anthropology is divided into several classes: ethnography, which is the study of the culture of a single group, whether civilized or primitive; ethnology, which is the comparative study of cultures of two or more groups; and social anthropology which is primarily concerned with social relationships and their significance and consequences in primitive and modern cultures as Detective Taggert has already pointed out."

"Linguistical anthropology --" A small tickle forced him to stop. He tried to clear his throat, but ended up coughing so hard he had to hold onto the podium to keep from falling to his knees. "That's it. I'm really giving up smoking this time." He grinned and was relieved to find most of the class chuckling over his joke although the look on Detective Ellison's face was one of great concern, almost horror.

"Professor? Blair?" a young female in the front row asked hesitantly.

"Yes, Brenda."

"Sir, are you the graduate student who drowned in the fountain last semester?"

"Why, yes, Brenda, I am," he answered truthfully, noting the blood draining from Ellison's face.

"But I thought you died?"

"I did, Brenda."

"What is that like?" she asked in awe. "What do you remember? Was there a bright light? Did you see loved ones?"

Blair grinned. He had them now. "As you may or may not know, the Atzecs of Mesoamerica believe that death..."

***

Jim Ellison stepped out into the hallway after class had been dismissed. "What are you doing here, Joel?" he asked the former bomb squad captain and his current partner in Major Crimes.

"I could ask you the same thing, Jim. I thought you said you weren't going to contact Blair."

"Technically, I'm not contacting him."

"Oh? Just hoping your presence might jog something loose?"

"It's been five months, Joel. I can't believe he doesn't remember anything."

"He's had a horrible trauma, Jim. While the human body can bounce back from a lot of things, it's just going to take Blair a while longer to fully recuperate if . . ."

"He does at all," Jim finished for him.

"I thought that was a possibility you had accepted, even wanted."

"I thought I did too."

"And yet, here you are," Joel said, without judgment.

"Here I am."

"Why, Jim?"

"I left things unsettled between us. I ... I was wrong to judge him so harshly. I know now that I was under the influence of ... What did he call it? Some territorial imperative. I want to make amends."

"He doesn't even remember anything of the past three years, Jim. Why make him remember things which are only going to hurt him? Your senses are okay, right?" Joel asked in concern.

When Jim and Simon had returned from Sierra Verde and Blair was still in recovery, Jim had made the decision to bring Joel into the small group of people who knew about his senses. To everyone's amazement, the quiet spoken detective was not bad at bringing Jim out of his zones. Apparently, Joel had been a keen observer of the department observer.

"They're fine, Joel."

"So why are you here, Jim?"

"Sandburg spent so much time in my world and I never really spent any time in his. He always had such a unique approach to solving cases. I can't believe how many times he was right or close to the mark. I got to wondering if it was because of his education or if it was just Sandburg."

"He certainly had a gift," Joel said, recognizing the lie, but not wanting to push his friend too hard. Jim had suffered greatly from the loss of his friend, and Joel understood that no amount of prodding was going to make the younger man admit it.

"You still haven't answered my question, Joel. Why are you here?"

"Blair and I have become friends ... again. You and Simon were in Sierra Verde when he woke up," Joel said quietly, knowing that his words were piercing his friend to the core and yet feeling Jim had a right to know. "I know how you two were always there for each other when one of you was in the hospital. I didn't want Blair to wake up alone. When it became apparent that he was suffering from amnesia, I walked him through the police report of the attack, which was incredibly short as he didn't remember anything. Don't get me wrong, Jim. I know why you and Simon made the decision not to push Blair into remembering. I know you wanted to keep him safe, but I also knew he didn't have anyone, so I helped him locate a small apartment and helped him move in. He didn't understand why I was helping him, but I told him that we had been friends previously."

Jim turned away, his eyes closing in pain. "You never said anything. I ... I didn't know."

"I'm sorry, Jim."

"No. I'm glad you were there for him, Joel. I'm glad someone was there for him."

"So should I call security?" Blair asked as he approached the two detectives, patting Joel heartily on the back. "I seem to recall a certain detective telling me I should report anyone of a suspicious nature lurking in the halls of the University."

"Now who would have told you a thing like that?" Joel demanded.

"Hmmm. I seem to recall that he was a cop. A handsome looking man. Generous. Selfless."

"I am not buying you a beer, Blair. You know what the doctor said about alcohol," Joel tried to say sternly, but ended up laughing instead.

"Hmmm. I think I'm going to have to review your grades, Joel."

"But you don't have anything to grade," Jim pointed out, grinning at his old friend.

The grad student laughed. "Drats, foiled again."

"I won't buy you a beer, but I would be willing to take you over to Mama Wangs for some hot tea and egg rolls," Joel said as he put an arm around his friend's shoulder and guided him down the hallway. "When was the last time you ate, Blair?"

"You sound like Naomi, man."

"You didn't sound too good in class, Professor. Are you coming down with something?" Jim asked, trying to be casual but knowing he came off too intense by the look that passed over Blair's face.

"My lungs aren't as strong as they use to be. Something about inhaling water not being good for them," Blair said, cocking an eyebrow at him and shrugging.

"I hope you were joking about smoking then," Jim pressed.

"Is there a mandatory mother hen course at the academy that I'm not aware of?" Blair asked, turning to Joel for support.

"Why yes, yes, I think there is," Joel said, trying to look thoughtful, but ended up laughing again as he took Blair's backpack and handed it to Jim. "C'mon, Teach, let's get some food into you. And Jim, why don't you tag along?" He turned back to Blair. "We need to talk to you anyway about the possibility of us missing a class or two depending on our rotations."

"Look, man, you're not getting out of homework that easily," Blair protested, trying not to laugh.

***

"Where's your car, Blair?" Joel asked as they stepped out of Hargrove Hall.

Blair sighed loudly. "In the shop. Where else would it be?"

"What's wrong with it this time?" Joel asked, pointing to his own car and indicating that Blair should go with him.

"Carburetor -- again." He shrugged. "Oh, man, look at that hayseed truck. I wonder who drives that relic."

Jim cleared his throat. "Um. I do."

Blair stopped dead in his tracks, his face suddenly turning five different shades of red. "Shit. I'm sorry. I ... gods, you'd think I'd be used to the taste of these feet by now."

Jim grinned wickedly at the younger man. "Well, I guess now is the time to talk about the possibility of us missing a class or two ..."

"I have been so set up! Hey, isn't this called entrapment?" Blair chuckled, but broke off as his coughing gagged him. He was surprised to find both men at his side, each supporting an elbow. He nodded his thanks and noted that neither man seemed inclined to let go.

"I thought the doctor put you on new round of antibiotics," Joel said seriously as he took his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the passenger side door.

Blair slid into the passenger seat. "He did. However, I just started them yesterday. He said it would probably take a couple of days to see if they'd kick in or not."

"Why is the doctor changing your medication?" Jim demanded quietly.

Blair stared up at him, frowning slightly as he answered, "Fountains aren't the cleanest of places. My doctor thinks something nasty was growing in there. Probably wouldn't have caused any damage if I hadn't breathed it through my nose. I'm not worried though. Doc Randall's really dedicated to making me whole again." Blair smiled up at Jim. "We'll see you at Mama Wangs." Accepting his backpack from the detective, he shut the door.

***

Joel walked around the back of the car to get to his side. "Jim, man, you've got to turn the intensity level down before you upset Blair."

"I'm sorry," the sentinel said, instantly contrite. "I just ..."

"I know," Joel cut him off with a supporting hand to the younger man's arm. "Look, we both know you're going to listen in on the drive over, just try not to zone out. Okay, partner?"

Jim nodded, then headed back toward his vehicle. Joel just shook his head as he got into the car and stuck his keys in the ignition.

"I don't have much money, Joel," Blair said frankly as he put his wallet back into his backpack. "Maybe you should just take me home."

"Nothing doing, kid," Joel said as he started his Lincoln and pulled out of the parking lot. "It's my treat tonight."

"I can't let you do that, Joel."

The older detective chuckled as he waved a finger around the car. "I don't see as you have much choice."

"You've already done so much for me," Blair complained quietly.

"It's what friends are for. Besides you've done just as much for me in the past."

"I wish I could remember."

"You will. Eventually."

Blair nodded and remained silent for several minutes. "Did I know Jim?"

"Why do you ask?" Joel asked as nonchalantly as he could. "Do you remember something?"

"No, I just caught him looking at me rather intensely a few times. I'm wondering if I should freak out or not."

Joel laughed. "Intense is Jim's middle name." After a moment, he made a decision and added, "Yes. You did know Jim before."

"Were we acquaintances or friends?"

"You were friends."

Blair seemed to draw within himself. "I see."

"Jim was in Sierra Verde when you woke up in the hospital," Joel explained, knowing the grad student was wondering why Jim hadn't visited him. "When he came back, the doctors had already made the decision not to inundate you with a lot of people demanding to be remembered, so he backed off."

"You didn't."

"Well, I'm a stubborn cuss. Plus, I owed you a lot. I don't set my debts aside easily."

"But you won't tell me what I did either."

"You know the rules, kid."

Blair sighed again, losing himself in thought. Suddenly, he slapped his hands together. "He signed a waiver. He's one of the officers I spoke with."

Joel nodded, smiling at Blair's enthusiasm.

"Well, good. At least now we have something to talk about."

***

Blair sat back against his booth seat and rubbed his stomach lightly. "Man, I am stuffed. I should never have let you talk me into eating so much," he frowned at Joel. Then looking at Jim, he shook his head. "Do I even want to know how you knew all my favorite dishes?"

"Lucky guesses?" Jim shrugged, trying to look innocent.

Blair rolled his eyes.

Jim leaned forward and asked quietly, "Has it been hard?"

"Hard?"

"Having a big gap in your memory."

"Yes and no." Blair took a sip of iced green tea. "I mean all my knowledge of anthropology is still in here." He tapped his head. "I still remember everything about my childhood, friends that I had, etc. I just can't remember anything about the last three years." He yawned and rubbed a hand over his face. "The hardest part is I can see people wanting to tell me what I've missed, but no one will actually break down and do it, which, statistically speaking, is incredibly frustrating."

Jim cocked an eyebrow. "Statistically speaking?"

"I work at a university, man. I observed at the police station. I literally know hundreds of people. You would think someone would have slipped. I mean, what are the odds of everyone remaining mum."

Both Joel and Jim looked at him sympathetically.

"Look, I'm not going to implode if I suddenly hear something about the dark period."

Joel frowned. "Dark period?"

"It's what I call my three missing years. It's as if someone turned off the lights and left me in the dark." Blair made a sudden decision and looked firmly at both men across the booth from him. "Come on, guys. One memory. That's all I'm asking for tonight."

Both detectives squirmed nervously.

"One memory," Blair prodded.

Jim and Joel looked at each other, then Joel nodded his head in a barely perceptible movement.

Jim cocked an eyebrow, seeming to ask which memory they should share. Joel raised one finger toward Ellison.

Jim closed his eyes for a moment, then smiled and opened them. "While you were riding with me, we had a news crew who wanted to do one of those "reality" television programs. We were in the middle of investigating a series of bank robberies and this team kept getting in the way. Finally, they accidentally stumbled across the bad guys' hold out. Lucky for them we were moments behind them. The leader had just ordered one of his men to kill them. I dropped down on top of the shooter, sending us both sprawling on the ground. I was able to get the reporter and her cameraman to safety, but we were pretty effectively pinned down. That is, until you lobbed a baseball at one of the shooters and clocked him in the middle of the forehead."

"No way!" Blair laughed.

"Way."

"So I actually went out on a call with you?"

Jim nodded.

"That's too cool." Blair shook his head in wonderment. "And I helped out?"

"Yes. " Jim nodded. "I don't even want to think about what would have happened if you hadn't knocked him unconscious."

"All right." Blair yawned again, grinning hugely as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear with his thumb. "Thanks, man. That means a lot to me."

"No problem."

"Well, I better take the professor home, Jim." Joel said as he dropped two twenties on the table. Blair noted that Jim was about to protest, but something held the man back.

Blair slid out of the booth. "Nice meeting you, Jim. Hope you enjoy the class."

"I'm sure I will, Professor. I'm sure I will."

 

 _  
**Two Weeks Later**   
_

A knock on his office door made Blair blink. For a moment, he wasn't sure what had broken his concentration, then saw the shadow standing before his etched window. "Come in."

"Professor Sandburg?"

"Jim. Jim Ellison from my evening Anthropology class, right?"

The detective nodded.

"What can I do for you?"

"I wanted to talk to you about making up the quizzes I missed."

"I thought you had dropped my class."

"No, sir," Jim said politely. "I've been on stakeout for the last two weeks. We just caught the perp yesterday and I just finished up with the paperwork. My boss has given me the rest of the day off and I was wondering if I could get caught up. I've been keeping up on my reading and I called one of the other students and got your lecture notes."

"Where's Joel?"

"I think he went home to reacquaint himself with his wife." The detective grinned. "I'm sure he'll be contacting you later to see how he can make up the quizzes himself."

"So you two have been studying on stakeout?"

Jim nodded.

"Cool." Blair chuckled.

"So can I take the quizzes?"

Blair leaned back in his chair and studied the man in front of him for several moments. "Between the two quizzes there are ten questions."

Jim simply nodded.

"I have a proposition for you," Blair said quietly. When Jim cocked an eyebrow at him, he continued, "In exchange for allowing you to answer each question, which will be graded on its own merits, you have to agree to answer one question about my dark years."

"I ..."

"This is non-negotiable, Jim," Blair said, pressing his advantage. He watched as Jim seemed to think the answer over. The detective actually looked longingly at the door, then looked back at Blair with an unreadable expression on his face. Finally, he simply nodded his acceptance over the terms.

Blair stood and handed the detective a blue book and a pencil and pointed to a chair next to a table covered with various artifacts. He watched in silence as Jim made a small space on the table, wrote his name in the booklet, then looked up expectantly.

"First my question, then the test question. Deal?"

Jim nodded.

Blair swallowed hard, starting to feel the first pangs of guilt, but savagely pushed them aside. He was tired of not knowing and if blackmail was the only way he could try to see into the darkness, then blackmail it would be. "Joel told me that you and I were more than acquaintances. He said we were friends. Would you agree with that assessment?"

Jim cleared his throat nervously. "I considered you my best friend."

Blair couldn't have been more surprised. What in the world could he possibly have in common with a cop?

Jim picked up his pencil and waggled it, a gentle reminder of their deal.

Blair took a deep breath. "Define the word anthropology?" He watched as the detective turned and wrote in the book for a couple of minutes. When he looked up again, Blair asked, "How good of friends were we?"

"You lived with me for most of dark period."

"What?" Blair shook his head in disbelief, startled by the quiver in his own voice. "How did that happen?"

Jim shook his head. "Ah. Ah. Ah. Quiz question first."

Blair stepped back a moment, a shudder running down the length of his body, but managed to stammer out, "What is the Comparative Method?"

Jim contemplated his answer for nearly a minute, before he began writing.

"Why was I living with you?" Blair blurted out before Jim had completely looked up from his blue book.

"You were living in an old warehouse down by the waterfront."

Blair nodded, remembering.

"It turns out the tenants who were renting out the other side were drug dealers. There was an explosion and the building was pretty much destroyed. You were in the middle of some research paper dealing with a Barbary ape named Larry and begged me to take you in for a week while you finished up your paper and looked for a place to live. It turned out to be a nearly three year week."

Blair knew he was blinking in astonishment, but couldn't seem to make himself stop, so he simply asked the next question. "What are Anthropology's four main sub-fields?"

Jim quickly wrote the answers down and looked back up expectantly.

"Why... why was my all my stuff in my office when I got out of the hospital?"

Jim's jaw clenched and unclenched several times before he spoke. "We had a misunderstanding. I got angry and basically threw you out."

Blair reached blindly behind him and grabbed his chair, sitting down hard. Finally, he whispered, "How would a cultural anthropologist use the ethnographic method?"

They stared at each other for several moments, before Jim finally turned and wrote his answer into the booklet.

"What was the misunderstanding about?"

Jim's eyes gazed everywhere around the room, except for on Blair. For a moment, Blair didn't think he would answer. Finally, Jim said, "It was over a woman."

Blair couldn't imagine any woman choosing him over Jim. He also knew that he would never break up a relationship, unless it was an abusive one and Jim didn't look like the abusive type. Sure, he was muscular, but he couldn't imagine Jim using that strength to hurt anyone with whom he was in a loving relationship. "Define ethnocentrism."

Blair ran his fingers through his hair as he watched Jim write his answer down. Maybe he should stop. Maybe there was a reason he couldn't remember anything. Was he moving into dangerous territory? Jim's answers weren't helping him remember anything, but he was grateful to get an insight into the dark years.

Blair studied the light blue eyes which stared back at him, almost pleading to ask a different question. Blair gave in to the unspoken request. "Did we do stuff together?"

Jim nodded and smiled beatifically at him. "We went to a lot of Jags games, especially after you proved Orvelle Wallace innocent of murder charges."

"What?"

"Dwight Roshman had been murdered -"

"Roshman was murdered? Man, that explains why I didn't see anything about him in the papers."

"All evidence pointed to Orvelle Wallace. As it turns out, he was being set up, but the man who did it had covered his bases very well. Simon and I were convinced that Wallace was guilty. You never doubted his innocence though and fought to make us see the truth. Arthur Dell was so grateful that he gave us passes to the playoffs and tickets to all of last seasons games."

"Wow. That is so cool."

"Simon, Daryl and I thought so."

"Daryl?"

"Simon's son."

"Simon? Your and Joel's boss?"

"Yeah."

Blair smiled at the thought of having met his childhood hero, even if he couldn't remember. "What else did we do?"

"Well, I taught you to fly cast."

"Fishing?"

Jim nodded, then leaned forward and pulled out his wallet. He hesitated for a second then handed Blair a Polaroid. Blair hungrily took the picture. It was a picture of him and Jim in hip boots, standing in the middle of a river. He was holding a fish and grinning like an idiot. Jim was also smiling, with something akin to pride. Blair lightly ran a finger over the picture then handed it back to the older man. "Thanks, man."

He watched as Jim reverently put the picture back into his wallet and suddenly he realized that the picture meant something to Jim. He cleared his throat, trying to speak past the lump which threatened to choke him, and asked, "Why is language so important to an anthropologist?"

Jim blinked at him once, as if only just remembering he was taking a test, and turned to write his answer.

Blair's thoughts were bombarding him, demanding answers. He and Jim had obviously been friends, but something, some woman had come between them and as a result he had died. He had somehow been revived, only to find himself with no memory and no chance to make things right.

When Jim looked up from his blue book, Blair stuttered out the next question. "Was ... was ... it m-my fault that our friendship ended?"

The blood drained from Jim's face. "No, Chief. You ... you tried to tell me what was going on, but I was so angry I couldn't hear you. We would have worked through everything, I know we would have, except -"

"I died and forgot everything in the process."

Jim nodded, looking miserable.

"Why are the material remains of a society significant?" Blair whispered, not able to bear the pain in the detective's face.

Jim turned to write his answer, but not before Blair noted the older man's eyes were bright with unshed tears. Blair's chest ached, but for a change it was his heart which hurt, not his lungs. With an insight born from intuition, he suddenly realized what he had lost: a friendship which knew no boundaries, which had given him purpose. He knew he would never have stayed with the older man for three years otherwise.

Jim had done what the doctors had asked - to stay away and give Blair some space to remember things on his own. When it was obvious that he wasn't going to remember, Jim had made the first tentative moves to try and reestablish contact. Why? If they had fought over a woman? Why was Jim here in his office, taking a test and answering personal questions?

Blair closed his eyes, feeling as if he was trying to put the jigsaw puzzle of his life back together. He gasped, opening his eyes as the simple truth came to him. "You loved me," he barely breathed.

Jim remained silent, although the muscles in his jaw indicated that he had heard his exclamation. Blair realized he had to know if his assessment was correct. Swallowing hard, he asked, "Did you love me?"

Jim closed his eyes, took a deep breath and released it slowly. He opened his eyes, his gaze locked on Blair's, and said quietly, "Yes."

Blair breathed heavily, trying to get his emotions under control. "The discovery of rituals defined what level in primitive man?"

Once Jim turned to answer his question, Blair brought his hand to his mouth and bite the knuckle of his index finger to keep from whimpering over the loss of a man he didn't even remember. Damning his oxygen-starved brain, he realized he had lost something very precious and was suddenly desperate to get it back.

He had always been a lover of women, but watching the detective's hands tremble as he attempted to write his answer, he realized it would have been very easy to have fallen in love with this man.

Jim finished his answer, but didn't look up.

Blair whispered his next question. "Were we lovers?"

Slowly, the detective's gaze met his, regret filling the sky blue eyes. "No."

Blair nodded his understanding. "Anthropology asks a most difficult and most important question. What is that question?"

The older man wrote for a couple of minutes. When he was done, he very deliberately put down his pencil and closed his blue book. Standing, he took a step forward and handed the book to Blair.

"Thank you for letting me make up the quizzes, Professor."

"No... no problem," Blair stuttered again as he stood and accepted the test booklet.

Jim turned and headed quickly for the door, his body visibly shaking. When his hand reached the door handle, Blair called out. "Jim?"

The detective stopped, but did not turn around.

"Did you want to be?"

Blair watched the broad back stiffen and heard the door rattle in place as Jim's hand shook.

"Want to what, Chief?" Jim asked without turning to face him, leaning his head against the door frame.

"Did you want to be my lover?" Blair closed the distance between them and breathed the words softly behind the older man, although he didn't touch him.

"Yes." The word was spoken so softly, Blair wasn't sure he had heard it at all.

Tentatively, Blair laid a hand on the detective's back.

In a blink of an eye, Jim spun and caught the hand, then turned, forcing Blair back against the door. "Don't, Chief... just... don't," he gasped out raggedly, although he did not release the wrist in his grip.

"Why not?" Blair whispered as he brought his free hand up and gently touched the older man's cheek.

Jim trembled. "Because... because I can't lose you again. It would kill me."

"Who says you'll lose me again?"

"You don't pitch for this team, Chief."

Blair blinked at the truth of the statement, and yet, couldn't deny what he was feeling. Couldn't deny how, even pinned to the door to his office, he felt protected, cherished.

"I'm scared, Jim."

The older man released his wrist and wrapped his arms around him, holding him tight. "I know, babe. I know."

"I don't want you to leave."

Jim's hands gently rubbed up and down Blair's back. "It's probably dangerous for me to stay."

Blair leaned his forehead against Jim's chest. "I lived with a cop for three years. Danger has to be my middle name."

Jim chuckled. "Your middle name is Jacob."

Blair snorted. "I know that."

Jim tightened his embrace and Blair reveled in the warmth. Finally, Jim loosened his grip and cleared his throat. "I should -"

Blair clutched the shirt in front of him and looked up into the older man's eyes. "Please," he whispered in a near sob. "Please don't make me beg."

"Blair," Jim started, blinking back the tears which threatened to make an appearance.

"Jim," Blair pleaded quietly, his voice quavering.

"Shhh, babe. All right," Jim whispered, pressing his lips against the younger man's forehead. "Everything will be okay. We'll work through this ... somehow."

Blair looked up into the older man's face. "Promise?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die," he murmured softly as his lips brushed softly over Blair's.

Blair pulled back slightly. "And hope to die?" he asked, then opened his mouth and nibbled on Jim's bottom lip.

"And hope to die," Jim vowed, before filling Blair's mouth with his tongue and his love.


End file.
